


hotter than hell

by cloudburst



Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, he thinks he's funny but he's not, it is worth mentioning, like bro calling someone a mom....., ok dude, phoenix also makes bad jokes, phoenix is just too warm my dudes, there's like almost no smut in this but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25763926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: “That’s funny. You’re real funny. You know it’s hotter than hell in here, and you’re sittin’ on top of me like some rugrat waking up his mum.” Phoenix attempts to remove his hands from Sova’s grip - albeit, sans any real effort. Unsurprisingly, Sova does not release him, instead laughing at Phoenix’s misfortune. (The misfortune to have a man who is hotter than hell sitting on top of him is not something he’d previously considered. Of any misfortune, it is his favorite, and he will take it over being shot at any day.)
Relationships: Phoenix/Sova (VALORANT)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	hotter than hell

**Author's Note:**

> i'm super new to valorant and ergo the fandom. no lore means i can make the cute russian dude and the hot guy kiss without it mattering and no one can tell me otherwise
> 
> also the "smut" in this is like brief blowjob mention so if that turns you off from fics please be aware

They are somewhere just outside Venice - on base after reconnaissance for the Ascent mission. Italy is a nation that Phoenix has found himself in once before, on a temperate week in Spring over a year ago. But this, now, is far hotter than any nation in Western Europe has any right to be. He feels like he’s going to melt into the ground beneath his feet. He’ll become a puddle, and no one will miss him. Viper will say good riddance; Sage will mock his poor fortune; Omen will laugh, almost inaudibly. That’s if he were to die. (He knows that, despite their prior allegiances - despite their unlikely relationships that have now formed, none of them would actually be happy to see his demise.) 

And then he thinks of Sova, long hair falling across his shoulders in the shower earlier. He thinks of the way Sova’s hands have trailed across his body, tracing paths into the skin on his abdomen - teeth following. Suddenly, Phoenix is far warmer than he himself has any right to be as well. He can usually stand the heat, but that’s self-inflicted. This is just cruel. He thinks that Sova may be slightly upset if he allows himself to become nothing more than a burn mark, but hey, that’s not his problem. He’ll be a puddle, and at that point he won’t care about the technicalities. 

The common room he’s found himself in has a single sofa, a television, and a radio which he has set to some local Italian pop station. The music is pleasant, even if he can’t understand a word of it. He doesn’t know where any of the other agents are, and at the moment he can’t bring himself to care. That is too much effort, forever and always. (He won’t admit it to himself, but this nonchalance is not only carefully constructed, but also based on the knowledge that if he’s needed, they’ll find him.) So, he doesn’t hesitate to close his eyes, spread out on the sofa, arms pillowing his head against the end as he tries to catch some sleep in an attempt to avoid consciously dealing with the heat. 

When he wakes up from his blessed nap that was far too short, he notices two things: it is far too warm - warmer than when he closed his eyes, and that there is someone on top of him. He recognizes the second issue as the cause of the first, until he reckons with himself that it may not be an issue at all, a blessing, even if he feels like he is about to become lava, molten beneath Sova’s gaze in more ways than one. Sova is not light; this is something that Phoenix knew already but he has never been more sure of this than the present. Sova has one leg folded in front of him on top of Phoenix’s stomach, the other hanging off the side of the couch from where his ass has now taken residence on Phoenix’s hips. His hands found wrists that were once behind Phoenix’s head, and now have them pressed to the arm of the sofa. His hair is pulled back off his face, and Phoenix could cry as Sova’s lips momentarily make their way to his ear.

“You looked so comfortable, I thought I might like to rest with you.”

Phoenix laughs, his belly shaking beneath Sova’s form. He thinks that if he laughed harder, if he bucked his hips, Sova could be dislodged from his perched position. This is something Phoenix stores in his mind for later. 

“That’s funny. You’re real funny. You know it’s hotter than hell in here, and you’re sittin’ on top of me like some rugrat waking up his mum.” Phoenix attempts to remove his hands from Sova’s grip - albeit, sans any real effort. Unsurprisingly, Sova does not release him, instead laughing at Phoenix’s misfortune. (The misfortune to have a man who is hotter than hell sitting on top of him is not something he’d previously considered. Of any misfortune, it is his favorite, and he will take it over being shot at any day.)

“Do not compare me to your mother when I intend to kiss you.”

Phoenix wants to tell him that he hadn’t compared Sova to his own mother specifically, that he had referenced Sova to all mothers - each and every - but he supposes that could make it worse. He cringes a bit at himself, actually. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before lips are being pressed to his. The kiss starts soft, almost cold - a relief from the warmth of the room. Phoenix knows he runs hot (obviously). It becomes fire as Sova releases his hands - Phoenix moving them to hold Sova’s hips in place. 

Phoenix has never known when to quit, though.

Sova presses a lingering kiss to his lips, sitting up for a moment to remove the t-shirt he must have chosen as his post-shower garment. Phoenix thanks God for small blessings as his hand comes to rest atop Sova’s right pectoral, Phoenix himself sitting up with Sova. 

“You might not be a mum, but you do have splendid tits.”

Sova frowns, as if he did not get the joke. “You are also not a mother, Phoenix. This does not deter me or my wish to have my way with you.”

Phoenix can’t help the laughter that bubbles from him; that had been such a serious response to an already ridiculous conversation. He tries to say as much: “Sova, what -”

Sova pushes him back down against the sofa, so he’s on his back once again, looking down at him with ice in his eyes but a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “You talk far too much, _little bird_. The time for talking has passed us, and yet you still make remarks.” Sova’s hands pull Phoenix’s tank top over his head; he lifts his back as he does so, so that the removal is easier. Sova leans down to place another kiss to his lips, teeth grazing his lower lip before he presses their foreheads together, speaking once more. (And he said Phoenix spoke too much; that was even before his ignition of this situation, where Phoenix is desperately awaiting his next move - wanting and wishing and waiting and aching and burning below.) “I want you, now. And you?”

Phoenix can’t state his agreement fast enough; the word yes comes out as though it is forced. Sova awaits his consent before lips begin to work down chest, upper abdomen, stomach. There are trails of fire across Phoenix’s skin, as if there aren’t always. But these are different, being marked by a man colder than ice. There are bite marks on his inner thighs from where Sova had discreetly observed their surroundings, ensuring their privacy. And there is a gasp filling the heavy air as Sova’s mouth does something that it has only done a few times before, lips wrapped around Phoenix’s cock. One hand moves up and down at the base of his dick, the other scratching across his thigh. Phoenix vaguely thinks, in the haze of his overheating mind, that Sova is wearing far too many clothes - that they both are, Phoenix’s boxers and shorts wrapped around his thighs. 

His hands are in Sova’s hair when he finishes, and he can’t control the last buck of his hips. Sova waits a moment before climbing atop Phoenix, pressing another kiss to his lips as he helps Phoenix pull the shorts back up. Phoenix supposes he deserves that, licking into his mouth with no remorse. He feels fucked out and tired from Sova’s hard work. He thinks that it’d be a pity not to return the favor.

“Tired from blowing you. I do not need the same favor returned, Phoenix. But you may do what you wish.”

Phoenix hums, and when he removes his hand from Sova’s sweatpants, he thinks about the cleanup they’ll face later. Now, as they fall back asleep on top of one another - clothing thankfully back on in its entirety, it is hotter than it was before. It defeats the purpose, but it’s fine. (Phoenix thinks that he’s in trouble - being unable to say no to a fellow agent, being regretful of the possibility of removing their bodily contact. He lets himself enjoy it, though.)

When Sage finds them tucked together, later, she laughs quietly before locking the door as she leaves. They are, in fact, idiots. They deserve one another.


End file.
